


Sons of Perdition

by habenaria_radiata



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Survivor
Genre: Angst, Animal Sacrifice, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pre-Canon, Sibling Incest, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 17:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14061612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/habenaria_radiata/pseuds/habenaria_radiata
Summary: He wasn't sure he understood either. The Shepherd was everything, and they were his world. Why, then, were his vegetables not good enough for Him when they were good enough to sustain them? Wasn't that why they existed at all? To nourish them so they could serve?Everything was for eating. The grass for their animals, and the animals for them.Were they, then, made to sustain the Shepherd?





	Sons of Perdition

* * *

  
    Until the first sacrifice, Father had always killed the sheep himself. He'd never demanded a reason for that; he was a smart boy, and the reason was self-evident.  
  
    His little brother was fragile. Abel's hands were clean, unbroken and smooth and wholly unlike that of his own. He never looked for a reason because there were none good enough to ask that Abel dirty those hands with the rough handle of a blade, or a thick spill of blood. Besides, he always cried about it. The moment he saw their father approach his field, Abel wailed and thrashed until he was dragged away.  
  
    No one had ever bothered to try and make him. It was easier for Father to shoo him away and do the deed himself if they were ever to have more than bread on their plates. Of course, Abel did not cry when he was busy stuffing his mouth at mealtimes. He often caught himself wondering if Abel even understood that the meat in his fingers had been pulled from the ribs of one of his flock.  
  
    He never felt inclined to tell him so.  
  
    Perhaps the sacrifice was meant for that. To cast Abel headfirst into the realities of their small, self-contained world. Cain did not pretend to understand the whys of anything asked of them. They did the things they did because their Shepherd demanded that they do them, and Abel was no different.  
  
    And so he did, hefting the blade beneath Cain's pitying gaze, his eyes and his face wet with tears. His small fingers clutched at the silk fur of his lamb as its blood spilled over the backs of them. He cried so dramatically, so _noisily_ , Cain very nearly couldn't hear the dying bleats of the lamb cradled so tightly in Abel's arms.  
  
    Their Shepherd was pleased. With Abel's sacrifice, with the tiny corpse of his favorite lamb, with Abel's ruined hands and his tear-stained face. How could he have ever believed his crops to be a worthy follow up? He should have known better.  
  
    Their Shepherd was not pleased.  
  
    The feeling was mutual.  
  
    His effort seemed so wasted in the wake of it. While Father had coaxed and wheedled Abel into presenting his best, fattest lamb in favor of a sicklier one, Cain had swept his entire field for the choicest of his crops. Now they withered out here in the sun, duller than he'd remembered at harvest. Inferior. Wasted.  
  
    Why, though, had he thought it would end otherwise? Wheat did not bleed.  
  
    Cain had already braced himself for the sacrifice to go poorly for Abel. They'd all shielded him too long, had wanted too much to protect him from the knowledge that sometimes, life was pain. That some lives had to end so that theirs could continue. But he had not realized that it would go so poorly for himself. That he would come away from it with embers smoldering in his heart and in his gut.  
  
    He hadn't thought he would come away from it with questions piling up inside his head, one after the other, so heavy his neck could scarcely support the weight of his doubt. He retreated into his field that night, and Abel had followed.  
  
    Hours later, he was still sniffling like a child. Abel sat himself down beside him on the ground, tall stalks of wheat obscuring them both from the world. Only the dark sky was visible above, bright with stars, but absent a moon. Abel slotted himself into the curve of Cain's side and sniffed harder.  
  
    Cain took one of his thin wrists into his hand and turned it over. Abel's skin was cracked and red, no doubt from scrubbing it raw. He was never going to handle death with grace. Those small hands weren't built for inflicting pain.  
  
    Carefully, he bent his arm at the elbow and brought Abel's palm to his mouth. He kissed the center of it. His skin was so dry against his lips.  
  
    Abel was such a baby.  
  
    "I don't understand," Abel said. When his arm was surrendered, he curled them both around himself and leaned harder against him. Cain dragged the edge of his nail from the nape of his neck down along the curve of his spine.  
  
    There was a lot he didn't understand, but Cain humored him. "What is it you don't understand?"  
  
    "I liked your vegetables."  
  
    Cain snorted into his hair, and his heart seized. The embers burned hotter.  
  
    He wasn't sure he understood either. The Shepherd was everything, and they were his world. Why, then, were his vegetables not good enough for Him when they were good enough to sustain them? Wasn't that why they existed at all? To nourish them so they could serve?  
  
    Everything was for eating. The grass for their animals, and the animals for them.  
  
    Were they, then, made to sustain the Shepherd?  
  
    His insides felt cold as his hand fell to Abel's hip, and his fingernails dug into his fragile skin. Perhaps it wasn't merely that his field could not produce things that could be sliced and bled out.  
  
    Maybe it wasn't the lamb's death that had so pleased Him. Maybe it was Abel's anguish. Maybe it was that he cut through tender, infant flesh to reveal warm meat salted with his tears.  
  
    If this world was made to sustain them, then perhaps they were made to sustain their Lord with their suffering.  
  
    They were no longer coals festering in him, but a blazing inferno that devoured and blackened his insides with ash. How cruel.  
  
    How cruel.  
  
    There was nothing he could sacrifice that would match his brother's, nothing he could grow from the earth that would please the sadistic Father who kept such a watchful eye over his family.  
  
    If the Shepherd demanded that they suffer, then none of his crops would ever be enough. He would never be enough. Abel would sacrifice more and more of his flock, harden his innocent heart into nothing until his hands were as thick and deeply weathered as Cain's were.  
  
    His heart shuddered beneath the weight of such an empty existence. How could he be expected to accept that? Was the only difference between himself and a lamb that the lamb could not dwell upon its fate?  
  
    "Cain?"  
  
    He snapped to attention and turned to face his brother. The boy's thin brows were drawn tightly as Cain surveyed him, his thumb seeking out the dip beneath his bottom lip and resting there. Abel. His baby brother, God's favored child. He could hardly blame Him. Abel was his favorite, too.  
  
    He deserved better than this. To toil all his life and offer his blood and his pain and his tears for the consumption of a cold-hearted God. Something black churned in his guts and slid through his veins, and he tightened his grip on Abel's smooth jaw until he made a noise of protest.  
  
    If the Shepherd had his way, there would be nothing left of his brother. They would both be left to work themselves to death, offering up their lives to repent for the sins their father had committed; for having the audacity to spring forth from an unworthy womb and unworthier seed.  
  
    "Cain?" came Abel's voice again, smaller this time, thin like his breathing. Cain leaned closer to him, his palm spread across the earth and sliding over a rock that was as knobby as Abel's bony knee.  
  
    The blood came rushing through his ears as he lifted it. If He could only be satisfied with sacrifice, then so be it.  
  
    He did not even feel the impact in his fingertips as the stone cracked against Abel's temple. Blood blossomed from it, splashing across the stalks of wheat pressing in on them. Abel collapsed, dazed, his eyes open wide and his mouth working soundlessly.  
  
    He tilted his head just enough to look at him before Cain struck a second blow, crushing the side of his face and throwing his head to the side. His body collapsed beneath him.  
  
    The bloodied stone fell from his limp fingers, glistening dully in the light of the stars.  
  
    Abel's face was etched into one of permanent surprise, as if the last thing he could think of was how shocked he was that his life did, indeed, have an endpoint.  
  
    He had been wrong to say that wheat could not bleed. Perhaps the Shepherd would like his next offering better.  
  
    But He did not. When the Shepherd spoke, he felt it rather than heard it, as they'd always done. The voice alit inside his head, thunderous and strong and rattling inside the edges of his skull.  
  
_Where is your brother Abel?_  
  
    Cain stood and craned his neck towards the sky. The wheat closed over the broken body at his feet, shielding it from the harsh, judging eyes above, and he opened his mouth and laughed. He knew _where was his brother Abel_. He knew all, saw all, consumed all. Didn't He?  
  
    He was not his brother's keeper, and now, this cretinous monster would not be either. Abel would forever be outside both their grasps. Cain opened up his empty hands and spread them at either side of him, his heart throbbing inside his throat. His blood felt frozen inside of him.  
  
_What have you done?!_  
  
    What had he done?  
  
    He knelt, falling to an unfeeling knee as he lifted Abel into his arms. Cain closed his eyes and put his lips to his face, the taste and heavy tang of blood flooding his mouth and dripping down his chin as he kissed him. "It's an offering," he murmured, and his hands tightened around him, against Abel's thighs and his ribs. He pushed his face harder against him, and he felt the shift of shattered bones beneath his nose.  
  
    "It's what you wanted, isn't it? I offer you what I love most in all this world."  
  
    Abel's meat was salted with Cain's tears as he presented him to their Lord, the earth beneath him an open maw to accept the innocent blood spilling down his arms.  
  
    It would have to be enough.  
  
    Naoya's eyes snapped open, and his head rolled towards the clock perched at his bedside.  
  
    2:54AM  
  
    He closed them again and rolled his head upright, his face contorting into a sharp wince. A dull pain pricked between his eyes and radiated outwards, spreading to the back of his head and down toward his spine.  
  
    Kazuya shifted sleepily against him. His bony fucking knee dug into his leg, but Naoya wasn't quite irritated enough to move it. He lifted his arm, letting the heavy limb linger before he dropped it back to the pillow behind Kazuya's head. His fingers threaded themselves through his mussed hair and traced the short rope of scar tissue along his temple.  
  
    It was not enough.  
  
    There would never be enough.  
  
    Naoya rolled onto his side and gruffly kneed Kazuya's leg away from him. His cousin made a dozy, unhappy noise without waking. Pitiful.  
  
    Some things never changed. His hand slid along Kazuya's bare hip and traced his side, up to his ribs where he could count each time his finger fell into a dip. He needed to eat more.  
  
    They climbed higher, up beneath his arm and around his shoulder, up to the side of his throat and his jaw. When Naoya finally reached his scarred temple, Kazuya squirmed against him. "Mnh?"  
  
    "Go back to sleep."  
  
    Kazuya squinted at him in the heavy dark and grunted. "Don't tell me what to do."  
  
    Naoya never stopped touching him. His thumb dug lightly, pushing past the roots of his hair like parting wheat, and he touched his scar again. "Why are you awake?"  
  
    He made another dozy noise of amusement, and Naoya crushed his elbow against his side to trap Kazuya's hand before he could stick his fingers into his armpit. "'cause someone keeps touching me."  
  
    His hand stilled, earning him a whine of protest. "I can stop, if you like."  
  
    Naoya resumed without waiting for Kazuya to beg him, feeling merciful just this once. "Did you have another nightmare?" Kazuya chanced. One of his pretty blue eyes cracked open. The decision to be truthful or not was surprisingly difficult.  
  
    "I dreamt I was a farmer," Naoya finally told him. Kazuya had the nerve to laugh at him like the brat he was.  
  
    "You'd be a really shitty farmer."  
  
    It amused him, in a grim sort of way. "I was," he agreed. "Go back to sleep."  
  
    "Make me."  
  
    Little shit. Naoya rolled again. A thoroughly undignified squeal burst from Kazuya as he draped his entire weight over him and squished him against the bedding. "Gladly," he whispered, The shudder that stole up Kazuya's torso pleased him immensely. "I wasn't that bad, you know."  
  
    Kazuya blinked at him, sluggish, still heavy with sleep, and tilted his head. "Huh?"  
  
    "You said you liked my vegetables."  
  
    He laughed long and hard, his thin body quaking beneath him and his thighs closed around Naoya's hips. His hands, so pretty and pale and clean, curled around Naoya's shoulders. "Oh, I'll bet I did," he finally managed. Naoya shut him up with his mouth, bending over him and pinning those perfect hands down against his sheets.  
  
    He'd used up so many lives feeding an eternally hungry Shepherd. Naoya had long since lost count of how many times he'd lived and died, how many times he'd mourned over the ever-changing shape of Abel's body, satiating the endless thirst for blood and pain that their Lord had denied.  
  
    It wasn't enough.  
  
    But it would have to be.  
  
    He had no intention of feeding Him any longer.


End file.
